


Metamorphmagus: the Secret Continues

by excentrykemuse



Series: Willow Series [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Identities, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Foreplay, Metamorphmagus Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 09:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17784662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excentrykemuse/pseuds/excentrykemuse
Summary: Lady Helène Peverell cannot quite forget that she was once Harriet Potter.  However, her future hinges on her continued charade as the Peverell Heiress.Sequel to "Metamorphamugus"





	Metamorphmagus: the Secret Continues

**Author's Note:**

> Happy St. Valentine's Day, Readers!

It was dark. Night maybe. There were gravestones all around and one read “Tom Riddle.” Helène was trapped against a gravestone, her arm bleeding. A cauldron steamed in front of her and the body of Voldemort, all snakelike and horrible, rose from the bubbling liquid.

Everything seemed to go in fast forward. Helène was holding a wand that belonged to someone else. The name was on the tip of her tongue. It was holly with a phoenix core. She was being forced to bow to Voldemort through the Imperius Curse.

Then there was pain. Horrible pain. She was writhing on the ground. For some reason she had curling black hair and startling green eyes that were staring at the stars above her as all she felt was the searing pain in her nerves.

She screamed and screamed and screamed.

Helène wailed as she sat up. She raised her hands, perfectly manicured, up to her face. It was oval instead of heart-shaped. Her hair was straight and up in a coif. The eyes that shone out of her face, she could feel, were blue.

She breathed out heavily and felt the sunlight shine down through the leaves above her.

“Lady Helène,” the concerned voice of her fiancé said as hands encased her shoulders. “Shh, you’re safe.”

She leaned into the touch and turned to look into pointed features and gray eyes. Platinum blond hair fell across the forehead and was a little long.

“Lord Malfoy,” she murmured. “I—where am I?”

Draco pulled her toward him. “You’re here in the gardens of Malfoy Manor,” he informed her. “It was just a dream. Whatever it was, it was just a dream.”

“I—“ Helène was never so inarticulate. “I dreamt I was her.” They both knew who she was talking about. Once, Lady Helène Louise Peverell had been Miss Harriet Potter. She had discovered she was a metamorphmagus and had never looked back.

Of course, Draco had figured it out. He had even called her by that name the day he proposed four months ago. She had tried to run, but he had stopped her. He had promised that he would never bring up the past—the girl she had been—ever again in relation to her. She had been Harriet. Now she was Helène. Still, she was haunted by the memories of being the Girl-Who-Lived.

Draco ran a hand down her cheek. “Hush, darling. It was just a dream. You’re safe.” He leaned in and their lips brushed sweetly.

A voice cleared. Both Helène and Draco looked over at Narcissa, Dowager Malfoy. She was sitting on a stone bench embroidering a cushion. She was wearing sea green robes. Unlike her sisters Andromeda and Bellatrix who had dark hair, she favored lighter colors to suit her fair complexion.

“I allowed Lady Helène to rest her head in your lap, Draco. Don’t push your luck.”

Narcissa was ever the proper chaperone.

Draco was sitting under a tree on the edge of a beautifully laid out garden at the back of the Manor that was meant for hosting parties. Helène had been lying down in the grass, looking up through the dappled leaves, when she had fallen asleep. Magic kept it a perpetual Spring although it was now December.

“Have you decided when the wedding is going to be?” Narcissa asked. “I realize it’s been less than six months since Draco has broken his engagement with Lady Astoria, may the gods weep for her soul, but still it bears thinking about.”

Helène raised her left hand to in front of her face. A teardrop shaped sapphire caught the light. Platinum filigree edged the stone. It was large enough to almost be called opulent. She would expect nothing less from a Malfoy. However, it was comfortable on her finger and seemed to fit perfectly.

“Mother, we haven’t even told Lacy yet.”

And they hadn’t. Lady Lacerta Malfoy was Draco’s younger sister. She was in her last year of schooling and she had, of course, seen the ring on Helène’s finger. The traditional Peverell engagement ring was virtually unknown so she probably just thought it was a jewelry accessory.

They had been rather lucky that she hadn’t put the pieces together.

“Let us not forget Lady Iolanthe,” Helène put in. She was referring to Draco’s youngest sister who was in her fifth year at Hogwarts.

Narcissa sighed. “After that article about your parting of the ways with Lady Astoria, I do not believe she will rejoice in the news of your new engagement.”

“No, I agree,” Draco mused.

“I believe,” Helène began hesitantly, “that perhaps we should make a few more public appearances. We can tell Lady Lacerta and ask for her silence, but perhaps should wait before we tell Lady Iolanthe.”

“It is not uncommon to have family gatherings during Hogsmeade weekends. They’re only for lunch, but we can tell Io then,” Draco decided.

“That should give her enough time,” Narcissa agreed.

“Should we really wait that long?” Helène asked. “Perhaps we could have a meeting this month or tell her at Yule. Surely her Head of House will allow it.” Helène wondered exactly who that was. After the Battle of Hogwarts, the school had been completely been restructured. Harriet hadn’t paid much attention as she had been too busy with trying to avoid the press.

“Slughorn would be happy to have such illustrious guests as Lord Malfoy and Lady Helène Peverell,” Narcissa spat out, which was uncharacteristic of her. “It is his loss, however, that he did not include Draco in his Slug Club when he was at Hogwarts.”

“Slug Club?” Helène asked, although she knew the answer.

“A club of students that Professor Slughorn ‘collects.’ He collected all the Blacks and, of course, the late Lord Malfoy,” Narcissa explained. “However, when Draco was a student Lucius was in Azkaban so Draco was not desirable. Lacy was in the club and it is expected that Io will be invited next year.”

“I see.” Harriet Potter had been a member, but that was another lifetime ago.

Draco brushed a piece of wayward hair behind Helène’s ear. “How would you like to go to the zoo?”

“The zoo?” Helène asked in confusion.

“Yes, there’s a magical preserve in Devon. Father used to take me when I was a child. You might perhaps enjoy the unicorns.” He looked at her in curiosity. “I could leak it to the press that we’re going to be there.”

“As long as it’s not that horrible Rita Skeeter,” Helène said, forgetting herself. It was Harriet Potter who hated Skeeter.

Draco looked at her perceptively. “No. I’ll invite Miss Lavender Brown. We’ll show her that there are no hard feelings and get her on our side.”

“If you think that’s best,” Helène murmured as she leaned her forehead against Draco’s forehead, closing her eyes.

He brought his hand up to her cheek and stroked it gently. By the gods, Helène had fallen in love with this man. It had only been a matter of a few short months and Harriet had been his enemy despite her strange fascination with him, but Helène loved him. She could only hope that he loved her in return. He had only said it once, when he thought that she would leave him. He was affectionate and she knew he cared for her, but was that love?

“Can I trust you, Draco, alone with Lady Helène at the zoo and to go send that owl to Miss Lavender?” Narcissa asked.

Helène laughed despite herself, her hand running up Draco’s arm so that she was holding his wrist in place.

Draco drew back from Helène although he kept her gaze. “I promise not to jeopardize Lady Helène’s virtue.”

It was four hours later, just past lunch, that Draco Apparated Helène to Devon. He held her by the waist and she leaned into his chest, a parasol in her hands. 

She had dressed for a photoshoot. Helène was wearing a mustard colored Illyria dress that came to just above her knees with a matching hat. Her robes were a dark blue as well as her parasol. She had decided against wearing stockings. It wasn’t cold enough yet.

Draco paid their fare and led her through the gates. 

It was wondrous. Helène was enchanted by the mermaids, a memory of Harriet Potter at the bottom of the Black Lake coming back to her. She watched the crups play with each other and noticed how much kneazles looked like Hermione Granger’s pet Crookshanks.

“I don’t have a familiar,” she noticed to Draco. “My owl died unfortunately. Perhaps a crup? Would you object?”

“Do you like dogs?”

Helène thought back to Sirius and his form as a grim. “Very much. I don’t think I could ever view an owl the same way I did—“ She almost said ‘Hedwig,’ Harriet Potter’s owl, but caught herself “—my previous bird, and I’ve never been fond of cats, but a dog would be nice.”

“Then we’ll see what we can do about that,” Draco promised.

It was at the unicorn pen that Lavender Brown found them. She had a photographer with her.

“How’s the fledgling romance going?” she asked. “Has Lady Astoria’s suicide at all affected it?”

Draco laid a hand on the small of Helène’s back. “Lady Astoria’s Greengrass’ death was a horrible tragedy. Although it was never made public, that relationship was never going to end in marriage. It has, of course, affected us given my history with the lady. However, it has only made our relationship stronger as we share a bond of sadness over the cause of Lady Astoria’s suicide.”

Lavender looked surprised. “Do you have anything to add, Lady Helène? You did, after all, take her place.”

Helène shared a glance with Draco. She was about to lie through her teeth. “Lord Malfoy never would have made me an offer of courtship if he had been in a relationship with Lady Astoria. Obviously the termination of that particular relationship had not been publicized, but Lord Malfoy was a free man.” The words flowed off her tongue, her training to be a pureblood lady coming to the fore.

“Now, a question we’ve all been wondering and which Lady Astoria remained silent about: is Lord Malfoy a good kisser?”

Draco actually blushed and Helène laughed. “I never kiss and tell, Miss Lavender. I’m afraid you’ll have to find a different source.”

Lavender looked a little disappointed, but she quickly turned to Draco. “How do you feel about your sister Lady Iolanthe’s editorial four months back about your break-up with Lady Astoria?”

“I think they were very good friends,” he answered honestly, “and that my sister did not have all the facts.”

“Now, Lady Helène, where have you been hiding all these years? Our readers are desperate to know.”

“France,” she answered. It was partially true. She’d been there for the past two years. 

“And yet you have an English accent. Would you call it your native language?”

“I would. I also had excellent tutors.” They had, actually, taught her how to speak like a lady and had coached her in how to speak with a posh accent.

“Where were your parents in all this?”

“I think this interview is over,” Draco said suddenly. “We will answer no more questions.”

He began to lead Helène away and Lavender had the good sense not to follow them. 

As they left the park in silence, Helène thought over what had happened. She allowed Draco to Apparate them back to the Manor, but she quickly broke away from him.

“Don’t be angry with me, Helène,” he begged when she turned and made her way toward the front doors.

“I’m not angry,” she murmured.

She heard Draco running over gravel behind her and he gently grabbed her arm. He tried to turn her around, but she stayed stationary. “Do you think I don’t have an answer for such a question?” she asked quietly. She then turned to him with sad eyes. “I don’t need protecting, Lord Malfoy.”

“Don’t you think, that at least in private, we can call each other by our names?”

“What am I supposed to call you?” she asked in earnest. “Lady Lacerta calls you Dray-ko while your mother calls you Drah-ko. Which is it?”

He looked lost. “I always assumed you’d call me Dray-ko. Everyone does, except for Mother. She’s a traditionalist when it comes to heavenly bodies. Most Blacks are named for stars and constellations.”

“Dray-ko, then. You know, I do have an answer.”

“What is it?”

“My mother died in childbirth and my father was killed by a Muggle. It’s why I’m a traditionalist politically.”

He breathed out heavily. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to undermine you.”

“I know you didn’t. You just have to remember that Lady Helène Peverell is a full person.”

Draco moved toward her and snaked a hand around her waist, pulling her up against him. They breathed in the same air as she looked up at him. Helène was tall, but Draco was over six feet. “Elle,” he murmured, kissing her deeply. Breaking away, Helène’s eyes were still closed when he asked, “May I call you that?”

“No one’s ever been close enough to me before to give me a pet name,” she breathed, leaning her head against his shoulder. People had been close to Harriet Potter. In fact, she had generally been called Harry.

“Elle then,” Draco whispered, kissing the top of her head. “I’m so happy you walked into my life and I didn’t end up in a marriage of convenience.”

“I’m glad I came back to England then,” she said, playing with his lapel. “I suppose I have a saving-people complex.” At least Harriet Potter had. “We better get inside before Dowager Malfoy has a heart attack. I think she’s looking at us through the window.”

“Ever the chaperone,” Draco laughed.

“Ever the chaperone,” Helène agreed.

Lacerta stared at the ring dumbly. She looked between Draco and Helène before glancing down at the sapphire ring again. “Are you sure it’s not a little hasty?” she asked. “You met each other on the first of September. It’s December third. I think this ring appeared mid September if I remember.”

“I’m entirely certain,” Draco answered. His hands rested on Helène’s shoulders. “I want to marry Lady Helène.”

They were sitting in the study, a fire roaring in the grate. The portrait of Lucius Malfoy was watching them closely. “I thought you wanted to marry Lady Astoria Greegrass,” the portrait said. “All you would do was talk about was blond haired babies.”

“I was talking about the next generation,” Draco argued back, “not my own happiness.”

“Do you think I married your mother for my own happiness?” Lucius scoffed. “She was considered the Black bastard because of her blonde hair. But she was the only witch of her generation who fit the profile of a Malfoy bride.”

“Well, as illuminating as that was, Father,” Draco spat, “Mother was the best thing that ever happened to you, and you know it. I’ll never believe that you didn’t love her.”

“Love comes with time. It would have come for you and Lady Astoria.”

“Astoria was vapid and vain. All she cared about was the next fashion routine. You know she flunked three of her O.W.L.s? She was an idiot who cared for nothing but money and prestige.”

Helène blinked. “Perhaps we should have this conversation somewhere else,” she suggested.

“Perhaps I should take his portrait down,” Draco muttered darkly.

Lacerta reached out and looked at the ring from several different angles. “You know, I’ve been wondering why you’ve been wearing this for several months all of a sudden,” she admitted. “Well. I suppose you better call me ‘Lacerta.’”

“Only if you call me ‘Helène,’” she agreed.

“Lacy,” Draco pleaded. “This must remain private for now. We’re going to tell Io later this month in person, and we don’t want the press getting wind of this just yet.”

“Of course,” Lacerta promised.

“We wouldn’t want the press to find out how inconstant you are,” Lucius put in. “Have you no respect for the Malfoy name?”

“How about you think of it this way,” Helène suggested. “Lady Astoria brought nothing to the match except for her coloring. She brought no money, no prestige, she was from a lesser house if I’m not mistaken, she had no intellect to pass on to future generations—I could go on, but I believe we understand each other. I, on the other hand, bring a great deal of raw magical power, the Peverell seat, the Peverell name with all of its prestige, and while I was never a scholar, I still did well in my test scores when I applied myself. Also, I am the only living person who can answer the question of the three hallows.”

Lucius looked at her shrewdly. “I see your point, Lady Helène. If only you were a blond.”

“I am afraid there are some aspects of myself I cannot change,” she replied, turning away.

Draco managed to get her away from everyone two days later. He pushed her up against the wall in the gallery and kissed her hungrily. She brought her hands up to his hair and pulled him closer. His hands rested on her hips and she could feel how badly he wanted her against her.

Pulling away, she grasped his hand. “Come here,” she murmured, and they raced down the corridor and up the stairs to her suite.

Again he was kissing her and she felt hot in her dress and she pushed off his robe. She then moved her hand down to his trousers, but he quickly pulled away. “No, Elle,” he murmured. 

“I was only going to—“ she tried to explain, but he was once again on her, kissing her jawline and running his hands up her rib cage. Then, with a swoop of his arms, he picked her up bridal style and she laughed. He shoved open the doors to her bedroom and laid her on the bed.

He was then on top of her, his hands holding him up as he kissed her breathless. At one point, his hand reached behind her head and she felt her hair being mussed until it fell to her shoulders. But she only held him closer and let her eyes flutter shut as he kissed a trail down her neck and to the swell of her breast. He ran a hand along the curve and she moaned. Then he was up again and kissing her, their tongues intertwining, until he groaned and pulled away from her. He flopped down on his back and the two looked at each other.

“You look beautiful with you hair down.”

She giggled. “You’re not supposed to see me like this.”

“I was not supposed to kiss you like that,” he countered.

“True,” she agreed. She reached for his hand and he kissed the back of hers.

“I want to marry you. Soon.”

“We can’t. The scandal,” she reminded him. “It’s all too soon. I hate to bow to the wizarding public, but we’re both public figures. Your former fiancé ingested Rhododendron leaves just a few months ago. We have to pay our respect.”

He looked away. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“Draco,” she murmured, reaching out and running her fingers down his cheek. “I—I know I asked you never to speak about it but perhaps this is the time. She knew you as a spoilt bully who made her life miserable for six years. She nearly killed you, Draco, don’t you remember? Because I have all of those memories.”

He turned a tortured gaze on her and it pained her to see that look in his eyes. She traced the edge of his cheekbones and sighed.

“I love you. You have shown me wonder and magic and acceptance and most importantly the ability to be the woman I really am. But don’t you think you should learn who that witch is? Don’t you perhaps believe that Helène should learn who you are now that you are an adult?”

He leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together. “You know me better than anyone.”

“Then let me know what wizarding Britain knows. Let me show you some of Helène’s secrets.”

“Do you have secrets from me, Elle?”

They both smiled at each other. “Every woman has secrets.”

He reached out and tugged at her hair so it was falling down her shoulders. 

“Tell me something, Draco.”

“Of course.” He was still playing with the ends of her hair, which in fact fell halfway down her back, and she liked the feeling of it.

“Why did you choose Lady Astoria instead of Lady Daphne Greengrass? I know she was in your year, and she had blonde hair.”

“It was dishwater blonde, more of a brown really. Miss Pansy Parkinson caught her dying it once in our fourth year. I made Astoria take an unbreakable vow that her hair color was natural.”

Helène laughed. “All women are vain,” she admitted. “I’m quite fond of my eyes.”

Draco looked into them, not that he had ever looked away. It was more that he suddenly focused on her gaze and squinted slightly. “Why blue?” he asked, referring to her Metamorphmagus abilities.

“I was always known for my eyes,” she admitted. “I found I couldn’t give that up. I had thought of using the Black gray eyes, but my face was less striking.”

“Your eyes seem to be filled with magic,” Draco agreed. “A storm of magic just waiting to be unleashed.”

“Well, I have no plan of unleashing it,” she admitted. “I intend to be the pureblood wife who goes to tea parties and plays bridge and attends political functions whenever her husband or the Minister needs me.”

Draco grimaced. “Yes, Shacklebolt. He was in that ruddy Order of the Phoenix. Doesn’t he have you cutting the ribbon on some new children’s ward at St. Mungo’s next week?”

She hummed. “It’s at three on Tuesday, but I have to be there at two. There will be plenty of chaperones. Can I ply you away? It could be part of the good press we need.”

He brushed her hair behind her ear with his fingers. “Well—Chalsie!” he called and then there was a crack and a little house elf was standing before them.

Helène was so startled that she almost fell off the bed. It was Draco’s quick thinking of holding her waist so that she was instead pressed against him.

“Go to my study and get my calendar. Not a word of my location in the Manor or with whom I am choosing to spend my time to anyone—especially my mother. Remember that I am now Lord Malfoy and your master.”

The little elf looked frightened.

“We just want some privacy as an engaged couple,” Helène placated. “Just bring Lord Malfoy his calendar so we can coordinate our schedules next week.”

“Yes, Master, Mistress.” The little elf bobbed and was gone.

“You’re rather good with house elves,” Draco observed before the creature was back with his calendar. He flipped through it. “I have a meeting at eleven but I should be able to come. I’ll pick you up at the Manor at one thirty?” He looked at her inquisitively and she nodded to him happily.

On Tuesday, they arrived promptly at two, Helène wearing purple robes etched in gold, her hair a mass of ringlets on top of her head. It was a handy spell that she’d picked up in France and was rather favored on the Continent at the moment.

“Will I fit the bill?” she asked Draco when photographers immediately started snapping their picture. “Lady Helène Peverell, back from the dead.” She laughed.

Her arm was looped through his and he pressed his free hand on top of hers.

“I think you make a stunning public figure,” he answered honestly. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“The fervor will die down in a few months,” she answered honestly. “Then I can go back to a life of near anonymity.”

“You’ll never be anonymous as Lady Malfoy,” he warned her, smiling for the cameras. 

She squeezed his arm. “Not compared to most people, but for me, it will be.”

They smiled at each other before she greeted Minister Shacklebolt.

Helène had not been expecting to see Ron Weasley after the ceremony. He was in his red Auror robes and clearly looking out for any possible threat. She paused when she saw him and Draco paused beside her, his hand now at the small of her back.

“That’s an Auror,” Shacklebolt explained, coming up behind them. “They’re tasked with protection against Dark Wizards.”

“I—see.” She looked at Draco before turning back to Shacklebolt. “It must be a dangerous profession. Is he married, children?”

Ron tensed up against the wall. “I believe neither.”

She nodded her head once. Something needed to be done about this. The question was what.

Lavender Brown was hailing them as a modern day fairytale. It was all rather startling. Pictures of the two of them were all over The Prophet and by the end of the day Draco had received a rather angry letter from Lady Iolanthe. It seemed whenever they appeared, which was whenever they were in public, she would write a scathing letter.

Helène felt rather badly about using her suite. She wondered where she would stay once Iolanthe came home for Christmas. 

“I’d better go see Io,” Draco announced to everyone after lunch. “Today, preferably.”

Helène turned back to her tea, knowing she would only make the situation worse.

“Take Lacy with you,” Narcissa said. “She and Helène have become friends. She can perhaps offer an unbiased view as she was not unfond of Lady Astoria.”

He nodded.

They were gone within the hour.

Helène wasn’t quite certain what to do with herself. She found her way into the front garden, walking amongst the white peacocks, trailing her fingers along their plumage.

“They’re a testament to a Malfoy’s love of all things blond and white,” Narcissa stated, gravel crunching under her slippers. “If you’ve noticed, all the roses in the garden are white as well.”

“I had noticed, yes,” Helène admitted.

“Draco said you were wearing white the night you met.”

Helène’s head turned around quickly. “I beg your pardon, Dowager Malfoy?”

Gray eyes were leveled at her. “You know, I find it all rather convenient. My son favors dark haired beauties who do not fit the pureblood norm.” She, of course, was referring to the ideal of petite witches who supposedly carried more power. Helène was tall and slim, much like Narcissa was, though Helène was still much taller. “You’re politically powerful, well mannered, educated, and you wear white. It’s almost as if this were planned, especially given the fact that you’re a Black metamorphmagus. If I didn’t know any better, I would accuse you of being my sister’s daughter, Auror Nymphadora Tonks.”

“You forget that I was in France and a guest of the French Ministry for six months before I arrived here. My appearance has not changed. Also, how was I to know that Lord Malfoy was going to be at the opening dinner at Hogwarts?”

Narcissa circled her. “Point well taken. But the white, Helène, the white.”

“It was simple, Mother Malfoy. I did not want to show any sign of preferential treatment toward any of the houses. Hermione Granger had explained them to me. I couldn’t wear brown because it was too close to red. I couldn’t don cream because it was similar to yellow. Purple favored blue. Black could even be construed as choosing Hufflepuff. So I chose the only color I could: white.”

Narcissa looked at her proudly. “Ever the diplomat. You will serve Draco well, I think. You know, between us women, I served him a bezoar when he got home that night as I was convinced you’d laced his Butterbeer with Amortentia. However, your reaction the next day proved that you were just as surprised by his reaction to you as I was.”

Helène chuckled. “I wonder what Lord Malfoy’s potion would smell like. I suppose we’ll never know.”

“Professor Slughorn does. He keeps track of every student’s preference. It’s a hobby of his to see if matches are made based on love or not.” Narcissa shrugged. “I smelled this strange musk that I was never able to place throughout my life. If it weren’t unseemly, I might try and find it, but I suppose I shall never know.”

Tentatively, Helène reached a hand out and squeezed Narcissa’s arm. “The late Lord Malfoy’s portrait said he grew to love you.”

“Yes, yes he did. I also cared deeply for him, but I doubt it is the same. He never held that fire that Draco’s eyes now carry whenever they land on you.”

Helène didn’t know what to say to that, so she remained silent, looking over the well manicured lawn. Finally, she breathed, “Mother Magic has seen to bless me.”

“Yes.”

It was some minutes later that Helène realized she was alone. When it grew cold she returned to her suite, skipping dinner. She wasn’t hungry.

She was taken completely by surprise when her door slammed open and a harried looking Draco Malfoy stood there. His hair was slightly mussed, as if he had been careless in his Apparition or had been running, and his gray eyes were wild.

“Elle,” he breathed, running to her, slamming his lips against her own. Startled, she gasped, and he held her tightly against him so that she could feel every sinuous frame. Suddenly, his mouth was removed from hers, but before she could take in a breath, his lips were caressing her jaw and his hands were fumbling at her robe.

“Draco, what are you—?” she asked, but he kissed her again, achingly sweet, and so she ran her fingers up into his hair, pulling at it slightly.

The robe was pushed down her arms and she immediately went for his tie, and tossed it over the sofa. He hurriedly threw off his own robe and removed his hands from her hips just long enough to undo his waistcoat and throw it on the floor.

“Draco, what are we doing?”

“We’re still clothed,” he stated, pulling back and looking into her eyes. “Just not so formally.”

“If anyone found out—“ she worried.

“We’re clothed,” he stated firmly, “and the door is open.”

She looked over his shoulder. It was. Then he was kissing her again, and sweeping her off her feet until she was lying on the divan. His hands traced her sides, brushing against her breasts, before coming and resting in the curve of her neck. She moaned and pressed toward him, closer, closer, feeling him up against her, all the while kissing him desperately.

The door slammed shut again. He must have charmed it closed.

“We really shouldn’t,” she stated hesitantly as he drew away from her to look into her eyes. “You love me because I’m not like other witches who would throw themselves into your bed—despite that one time.”

He looked startled.

“You know it’s true. It’s what Astoria did, wasn’t it? Why not wait ten years until there are more blonde witches? There was no hurry. But you somehow felt obligated and were looking for any way out. Your mother said so.”

“And all the good I could see in it was blond babies.”

She nodded firmly. “I’m not like that, Lord Malfoy. I have never been like that in any incarnation.”

He breathed raggedly and then moved to sit next to her still reclined form. Helène took a moment to center herself before she, too, sat up. She reached for him but he flinched away.

“Draco, please, look at me,” she begged.

He sat there sullenly, staring at the wall, before eventually turning his broken gaze on her. “I just can’t do anything right today, can I?”

“What’s wrong?” she tried.

He sighed. He took her hands in his and kissed them. “I’ve been horrible to you. I’ve not treated you as a lady should be treated. I’ve undressed you. I’ve undressed myself. I always find myself in your private apartment.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. It was, after all, true. 

Silence enveloped them. Then, he broke it with a quiet “I love you, Helène Louise Peverell.”

Squeezing his hands, she whispered. “Thank you.”

He looked at her earnestly. “I’ve never loved anyone so much in my life,” he admitted. “Not Mother or Father, not Lacy, certainly not Astoria, and even precious Io.”

“She means a great deal to you, doesn’t she?”

“Mother almost died giving birth to her. Io almost died as well. Io had to be monitored at St. Mungo’s for nearly a year before she could come home to us. I was only five, but I visited her every day with either my Father or my Mother. She was so small, so beautiful, so weak. Mother had ingested some potion that had harmed her, we think. But with the right care Io thrived and she’s always had a special place in my heart.”

“It must be wonderful, to have family,” she murmured and smiled at him sadly. “What did she say?”

“She insulted you, said that I was using you for political gain, that I’d broken Astoria’s heart. Astoria never had a heart, to be honest. I remember after we’d lain together, she looked at me coldly and said, ‘Well, you’ll have to marry me now. Luckily I have blonde hair.’ It wasn’t really blonde, it was more strawberry blonde, to be honest.”

“That must have been horrible.”

“It was my own fault. I let myself get drunk at a party and she must have slipped something in my drink.”

“Come,” Helène suddenly said. “There must be a wizarding night club. Take me dancing.”

“You can’t dance,” Draco said suddenly.

She looked at him hard. “Remember the evening with the lute? I can certainly dance,” she corrected, her mind turning back to Harriet Potter and her abysmal performance on the dance floor at the Yule Ball. 

His lips twisted upward. “True. I must have been thinking of someone else.”

She threw him out of the room in order to get changed and looked through her wardrobe. Night club. Night club. Night club. She pulled out a dress she’d purchased in Paris that was sleeveless and full of sparkled ruffles. This would have to do.

Helène had covered it up with a robe so Draco didn’t see until they were somewhere in London and she removed it to give it to the attendant. Draco stilled behind her.

“Paris fashion,” she explained.

He shook his head. “We’ll be in all the papers tomorrow.”

She laughed and strung her hand through the crook of his arm. “Show me around, Lord Malfoy.”

He led her forward. “If you thought what we did before was indecent, this clearly is more so.”

A flash came from the side but Helène ignored it. There was another flash. Then a third. 

Draco smiled at her, that wonderful look in his eyes, like he was the happiest and proudest wizard in Britain. She smiled back at him, her blue eyes shining.

“I think we started gossip,” Helène all but giggled.

“I know we did.”

They were on their way to the bar when Helène recognized a shock of red hair. It wasn’t Percy. No, it was Ron. She paused and then whispered in Draco’s ear, “A raspberry margarita.”

He nodded, looking briefly at Ron, and left her on her own.

Helène took a deep breath. It was risky doing this, but she had to try. Harriet wouldn’t have allowed otherwise. She squared her shoulders and moved forward. “Auror Weasley,” she greeted. “You may not remember me but we briefly ‘met’ at St. Mungo’s the other day.”

He looked at her as if she were mad. “Aren’t you marrying Malfoy?”

“That’s only speculation,” she answered. “I’m Lady Helè—“

“I know who you are.” He took a drag of his beer.

Helène was silent for a second. “Forgive me for being so blunt, but why aren’t you married to Hermione Granger?”

He glared at her.

She had to try again. “I know you were close at the end of the War. All signs pointed toward marriage. However, you’re here, in this bar, alone, and she’s probably reading in her apartment some tome that’s so dusty it would make the average person’s throat scratch.”

“You don’t know me,” he ground out.

“No, but I know Hermione, and I know she’s not happy.”

He grunted. “She would never admit to such a thing.”

“It was obvious,” Helène stated, to someone who really knew her. There had been the jealousy of her relationship with Draco and the cruelty when she hadn’t known everything there was to know about him. “Maybe you could go round for tea.” It sounded lame even to her ears.

“I don’t want Hermione,” he stated viciously. “I wanted Harriet.” He stared into her impossibly blue eyes. 

She visibly flinched. Harriet had never known. Helène had never suspected.

“Yes, yes. We all know you wanted her for her money and her fame,” Draco said, coming up. “It’s an old story. Come, Elle, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Looking at him confused and utterly lost, he pushed the drink into her hand. “Drink some of this and then just remember who you are.”

She nodded and she took a large sip of her margharita and then closed her eyes to refocus herself. When she did, she stood smoothly and smiled at Draco. She turned briefly back to Ron. “Goodnight, Auror Weasley.”

He just grunted at her.

Draco led her away into the crush of bodies to a table where a single individual sat. Helène recognized him peripherally from Hogwarts. If she was not mistaken, he was in Slytherin.

“Lady Helène Peverell, I’d like to introduce Lord Theordore Nott.” A younger son, then. “I had hoped to introduce him to Lacy at the wedding, suggest him as her escort, but unfortunately that opportunity is no longer available.”

Helène took in the other wizard. He was tall, lanky even, with a heart-shaped face, light blue eyes, and chocolate curls. She supposed he was attractive. “You have an elder brother?”

“Yes, Lord Nott,” he agreed, taking her hand which she offered. “Our father passed away in Azkaban.”

“My sympathies,” she murmured, her bought breeding coming out again. She turned to Draco and smiled. “He isn’t blond.”

“No.”

“Nor a first son.”

“No.”

“Your father would have had a fit.” She turned laughing eyes on Theodore. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Were you and Lord Malfoy school mates?”

“Yes,” he offered, relieved at the question. “We were dorm mates and friends, of a sort, at Hogwarts.”

She hummed. “A perfect candidate then. However, shouldn’t Lady Lacerta finish her schooling first?”

“She’s seventeen. She’s allowed a little romance in her life,” Draco countered. “I’ve seen the way she looks at us.”

“Yes, I had begun to notice that, too, and since she is not at Hogwarts she cannot find anyone for herself.” Helène sat down gracefully. “Now, Lord Theodore, tell me exactly why you are interested in escorting Lady Lacerta. Is your House of the First Tier?”

“Just. Lady Lacerta is a beautiful, intelligent witch. I find myself—intrigued by her.”

“Have you actually met her?”

Draco looked pleased at all this questioning. They shared a look and he smiled at her. Her eyes crinkled back in enjoyment.

Theodore was looking between them and finally said, “A few times, at Hogwarts. She always had such poise—“

“All pureblood maidens have poise,” Helène interrupted. “Some half-bloods have it. Muggle-borns from wealthy families have poise, much to purebloods’ displeasure. What else does she have apart from poise?”

“They don’t have it like Lady Lacerta. She walks as if she knows she’s better than everyone else without making it seem like she’s condescending to their level,” he stated hotly. He breathed heavily. “Why do you even care, Lady Helène? You’re only being courted by Lord Malfoy.”

“I take an eager interest in the Malfoy family. I intend to make it to the bondler with Lord Malfoy, unlike my predecessor.” She sipped her drink. Her sapphire ring shone in the artificial lighting.

A look of comprehension appeared on Theodore’s face. “May I offer my felicitations, Lady Helène?”

“You may,” she stated. “Of course, this has not been fully discussed within the family or released to the press.”

“I understand.” Theodore’s eyes met Draco’s. “I won’t breathe a word.”

Helène smiled. “Good. Now, Lady Lacerta. Tell me of your previous girlfriends.”

“I really don’t think.”

“Fine then. Draco, I feel like a dance,” she said turning to Draco. “We can let Lord Theodore think for a moment.”

Draco held out his hand. “You know I love dancing with you.” He led her away from the flabbergasted Theodore and onto the dance floor where they held each other at arms length, waiting for the down beat. Then they were off, twirling around one another, their hands linking then unlinking in a form of intricate modern dance that purebloods had perfected over the last few years. Their bodies never touched, but their elbows would brush, or a hand would stroke down a cheek and then a neck, and they were both breathless by the time that Draco escorted Helène from the dance floor.

Theodore was waiting for them, their drinks still sitting where they left them. 

“You won’t be pleased with me,” he stated and Helène just looked at him. “Daphne Greengrass.”

Helène glanced at Draco who stared back at her.

“What ended this relationship?”

“My brother was expected to die as a Death Eater. At least, she expected him to die and for the title to pass to me. Obviously, that didn’t happen.”

Helène nodded. “I see. Well, I think it would be lovely for Lord Malfoy to take me on a picnic in a magical garden somewhere so it can be snowless and warm, and for you and Lady Lacerta to serve as chaperones. I expect Lord Malfoy and I would like some privacy so that should give you time to speak with Lady Lacerta. When are you next free, Lord Malfoy?”

“Saturday,” he answered swiftly. “Well, Friday, but Lacy has lessons.”

“Saturday then. Luncheon is served at around two o’clock so if we meet at Malfoy Manor at one, that should give us ample time. I’ll leave the location and details to you, Lord Malfoy.” She grinned at him.

“I could kiss you right now.”

Helène smiled at Draco. “I think that would be unseemly in public. However, I’m only allowing an introduction. Lacerta might hate Lord Theodore.” She turned toward him. “Does your brother have a son? Why aren’t you Heir Theodore?”

“Yes, I have a nephew. He’s a little over a year old,” Theodore said happily. “I love seeing him when his nanny brings him down.”

“So you live with your brother and his wife.” Helène hummed. “I like the idea of an active father. That could serve you well.”

The pictures, of course, came out in The Daily Prophet. Miss Lavender Brown had at least realized her dress was in the French style, and had written about how fashionable Helène was. This led to Iolanthe sending yet another angry letter to Draco, which made him edgy for a morning before going to the Wizengamot.

Helène went with Narcissa as her chaperone, watching from the Malfoy and Black guest seats. They were debating budgetary concerns for the Ministry, which was rather dull, so Helène didn’t bother to pay much attention except when Draco was speaking.

“We’ll have a guest today,” Helène informed Lacerta that Saturday just before lunch. “Lord Malfoy and I thought that you might like someone to talk to.”

“Anyone I know?”

“I believe so,” Draco answered, putting on a pair of lightweight gloves. “Lord Theodore Nott. He was in my year at Hogwarts.”

“Tall? Brown hair?”

“Yes,” Draco replied. “I think you’ll like him.”

Helène didn’t pay much attention to Lacerta and Lord Theodore during the date. She was holding Draco’s hand, playing with his fingers, as he fed her mince pies with his fingers.

Lord Theodore, however, showed up the very next day with a present wrapped in pale lavender and asked to see Lacerta. Draco was out at the Wizengamot and Narcissa was in her room with a migraine.

He was shown into the smaller of the two drawing rooms, which Helène used as her own personal space as she was not yet technically part of the family and only a guest. She had received Minister Shacklebolt there a few times when it was necessary to discuss her appearances at charity events that did not involve the Malfoy family.

“Lord Theodore,” she greeted, standing and putting her Molière aside. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” The words fell off her tongue as if she had always spoken them.

Theodore looked a little abashed. “I was hoping to see Lady Lacerta. I’m told she’s in her studies?”

“Yes,” Helène agreed. She looked at the clock. “Lacerta should be done in half an hour or so, if you can bear my company for that long.”

“A gentleman should never be alone with an unmarried lady,” Theodore began.

“Perhaps not,” she agreed. “However, I am serving as chaperone for you and Lady Lacerta. I won’t tell if you won’t.”

He tipped his head to her. “Very well, Lady Helène. Please, don’t let me disturb you.”

Lacerta was fetched as soon as she was out of her lessons. Her hair was elegantly coiffed and she was wearing a rather fetching blue skirt that flared out and a white button up blouse with peasant sleeves. “Lord Theodore, I hadn’t expected you. Are you here to see Draco?”

“No,” he blushed, which was rather becoming on him. “I have a gift for you, Lady Lacerta, if you would be kind enough to accept it.” He handed the large packet over to her.

She looked at it and then glanced over at Helène. Helène, of course, recognized it for what it was. As soon as Draco had mentioned Theodore’s interest in Lacerta, she had looked up Malfoy courting rituals in Spungen’s Guide to Pureblood Dynasties. This was the first gift.

Lacerta carefully unwrapped the package and breathed out. “I’ve never heard it before,” she commented and then read, “The Silver Swan. Do you know it, Helène?”

“Yes, I heard it in France,” she admitted. “It’s a very haunting piece of music.”

Looking torn, Lacerta glanced between the sheet music, Theodore, and Helène. “Lord Theodore,” Helène said, “might I have a moment alone with Lacerta? This is, I believe, her first courting gift.”

Lacerta seemed relieved and Theodore bowed his head in acceptance, though indecision warred on his features.

“We’ll just be a few moments,” Helène assured.

He left them.

“Now,” Helène said, coming up to Lacerta and looking at the beautiful sheet music. “What are your reservations? Do you not know Lord Theodore well enough? Do you not like him?”

“It’s not that,” Lacerta replied, holding the sheet music carefully. “It’s just—I don’t know if Draco would approve.”

“I can tell you that Draco does approve wholeheartedly, though that should not sway your opinion. What do you think, Lacerta? You’re only seventeen. I know that’s old enough to marry, but you’re still in school.”

Lacerta closed her eyes and seemed to be centering herself. Opening them, she said firmly, “I think I’d like to know more of Lord Theodore.”

“Then shall we repair to the music room so that you might sing for him?” There were the words again, falling off of her tongue. “I’m sure he’s anxiously awaiting your opinion.”

Her recital was far from perfect, given that Lacerta was only a second soprano, but Lord Theodore seemed pleased and actually kissed her hand at the end of it—a nicety which frankly did not exist in pureblood society.

“We should go to the opera,” Draco announced over dinner one night. “The two ‘courting’ couples. I know you’ve been enjoying your courtship dates with Lord Theodore, Lacy, but it might be fun to go out together.”

“It will also launch you as a couple,” Narcissa put in wisely. “If you’re seen with Draco and Lady Helène then speculation will surely be excited.”

“You know I can’t suggest it to Lord Theodore, brother,” Lacerta said. “You’re going to have to propose the idea.”

“Consider it done,” Draco said with a smile. “It will be a joy to be out at the opera with two of my four favorite ladies on this earth.”

“And we can all serve as each other’s chaperones,” Helène added with a smile. “We can give Mother Malfoy the evening off.”

Narcissa tipped her head to Helène.

The opera was dazzling. Lacerta had tried on six different robes for Helène which Draco had to eventually choose from before going through Helène’s closet and making her try on several. In the end Helène wore crimson red with ruby earrings. The sapphire ring was heavy on her finger and the pearl bracelet was a constant reminder of her early courtship with Draco.

“You look stunning this evening,” Draco whispered in her ear, hand at the small of her back, as they entered the theatre lobby. A flash went off and she knew the four of them had been spotted.

“Lacerta will be glad you approve,” she answered quietly, their noses just brushing as she stared adoringly into his eyes.

“Lord Malfoy! Lady Helène! When can we expect wedding bells?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Draco joked. “The lady will not tell me.”

“Is this your sister? Does she serve as chaperone tonight?”

“Lady Lacerta and Lord Theodore Nott are chaperones to us both,” Helène put in, “just as we are chaperoning them. It’s a nice family ‘double date’ as I believe the Muggles would say.”

It was with a sad heart that Helène moved all of her possessions from Iolanthe’s suite a few days later before Iolanthe herself arrived home for Christmas. Helène was moving to Draco’s childhood room, which was more masculine and covered in bookshelves. The house elves had put flowers on the windowsills to try and give it a woman’s touch, but the dark blues and black showed that it was clearly a man’s space.

Helène did not go to meet the Hogwarts Express and instead stayed with Lacerta in her small sitting room. “She’ll hate me,” Helène decided. “All of her letters show how much she dislikes the idea of me. I doubt the actual reality will prove a difference.”

“She doesn’t know you,” Lacerta claimed. “Give her time.”

Iolanthe did not need time. She took one look at Helène and said that she didn’t know what all the fuss was about. “She’s not even blonde,” she explained to Narcissa heatedly. “I thought all Lord and Heir Malfoys married blondes.”

“Draco is different, darling. He chose to break from the mold.”

“For what? Political power? This is ridiculous. Astoria was a friend.”

“She was no friend of mine,” Draco put in seriously. “I know the two of you were close, but it was just a match of convenience between the two of us. You may be surprised to hear this, Iolanthe, but I chose to go against hundreds of years of Malfoy tradition and marry for love.”

“And can you honestly say that you love her? What do you know about her?”

Draco and Helène shared a knowing glance. “More than you can possibly imagine.”

Yule came and Helène was so excited she put on the first robes that she found and ran to the dining room. “I’ve never had a Yule before,” she told Lacerta excitedly as she tried a Norse pastry called Kringla. “I got everyone presents in case it’s like Christmas.”

“You did not need to do that, dear,” Narcissa said kindly. “Gifts are not usually exchanged except between those who are bonded. I believe Draco got you something, though.”

Helène looked over at him eagerly and he was blushing. “Come, let me take you to your small sitting room. I have two gifts for you this morning.”

“A crup!” Helène squealed as she got down on her knees and held the puppy close. Its forked tail had been severed so that it resembled a Muggle terrier, as per wizarding law, and he was absolutely adorable. “You remembered.”

Draco came over and laid a hand on top of the twist of her hair. “Of course I did. How could I forget anything my beloved tells me?”

Helène looked up at him, the crup in her arms. “What’s his name? Her name?”

“His name is ‘His Serene Highness Prince Ernst.’ The breeder had a penchant for Muggle royalty.”

“Ernst then.” She kissed his nose. “Thank you, Draco. My gift seems silly after this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s in my room, but it’s a tie with snakes all over it—for Slytherin. I know how much you like to wear ties and—“

Draco swooped down and kissed her lightly, the crup still in her arms. “That’s perfect, Helène. I know I’ll love it.—Now, to your second gift.” He offered Helène a hand and she stood, never putting down the crup and he walked her to a table with an athame and pomegranate on it.

“I thought today would be auspicious.”

“What about your mother? Your sisters?” Helène questioned in confusion, recognizing the bonding tools. There was a little jewelry box off to the side and, putting Ernst down, she went and opened it to see two Malfoy bonding bands inside.

“Mother and Lacerta know. Io will just have to be told.” Draco took up the athame and slit his hand open diagonally. He handed it to her and, after hesitating, she accepted it and sliced her own palm open. Their blood intermingled and then they were cutting the pomegranate, their blood mingling with its juices and feeding it to one another.

Then, carefully, Draco picked up one of the bonding rings and slipped it beside her Peverell engagement ring. He kissed the palm of her bleeding hand and smiled at her as it healed.

Mirroring the original gesture, she slid the bonding ring onto his hand and watched as the cut closed, before finding herself in his arms, kissing him languidly.

Helène was married and there was nothing anyone could do, even the shade of Harriet Potter, to change that.

****

**THE END  
**


End file.
